midnight arousal
dim old age memory
sees clearly
the surcease
of longing
the explosion
into the void
the black hole
squeezing normal
into a long moment
of forgotten pleasure
no more or less gossamer
than any of those
lived before

laid low by a man
with a right and a left
laid low by a woman
of mercy bereft

laid low by cowardice
at the point of attack
laid low by the memory
that brought it all back

laid low by the grifters
trading in fear
laid low by the sight
of her child in tears

laid low by the taste
of love turned sour
laid low by the knowledge
that this is the hour

laid low by a song
with no rhyme or reason
laid low by a cold wind
in our last season

laid low by false hope
for freedom's breath
laid low by satori
at the moment of death

I look to her chair
hoping to see her
looking back at me
smiling
pleased to see
that her cat and I
are fast friends.
As always
my pleasure
is only in the
anticipation of
seeing her smile
for she will not be
there again
today
tomorrow
ever.

He talks to her,
the old man,
every day
forty or fifty
times a day
probably.

She's been gone
two years,
he still talks to her
every day.

Not much in the way of
complex conversations
exactly,
mostly just
"oh, baby.  *******."

As my days
trickle away
they will say
I am mad.

I will say I've
heard your voice again,
seen your face,
laughed with you.

I look in the mirror,
into the eyes
of a dying man.
I think of her
doing the same,
standing quietly
in front of the mirror
while she cleans her teeth,
rubs dry the frizzy wisps
of her chemo hair,
wipes her  weeping eyes
with cotton pads
so she can see more clearly
into the eyes
of a dying woman.

I dreamt I was falling
tumbling backward in time
I watched as I fell
through my birth
as my essence separated
into its original pair
past Hiroshima and Nagasaki
as the mushroom clouds
shrunk to pinpoints
in metal cases
ten thousand feet
above the cities
as melted flesh reassembled
on the skulls of children
and their mothers.

When I awoke, I was older.

A fly was investigating the aromas
of my newly poured Scotch
when he was overcome by the fumes
and fell into the drink.

When I picked up my whisky
the fly was drunkenly struggling
against his predicament.  

I watched until the fly was still,
      pondered my options,
then moved to the kitchen,
poured it all down the drain.

I decided to pour another shot
and wait to be offered
those same options again.

To keep moving
seek an adequate
sense of balance
is all i can muster
now that you're gone

You let me give you
all i am
almost all my love
You let me give you
almost all my love

what you would not
accept was light enough
to carry as tribute
for passage
to your circle

the greater burden
of my love unloaded slowly
as rushing water through
carefully opened conduits
of acceptance

you closed the gate
on your way out

what i still must give to you
has nowhere to flow
so inundates me
drowns me
carries me away

no gates to close
on my way out

Morning in the Orient,
rays of the sun
intricately bent
by a night on *****.

Recognize your friends
even if the pain
of speaking aloud sends
memories to the brain,

memories of the war we won
still floating purple-red
in the wounds of Algernon
******* energy from the dead.

Evening in the Orient,
rays of the sun
intricately bent
by a day on *****.

I never thought
I'd have a muse
or be amused
by having one.

But there you are,
O Muse, my love,
and here am I, a-mused
and sitting by your side.

What pure delight awaits the man
who lives the life that's mine
and spends some precious hours
sitting by your side.

I'm dreaming of awakening
and seeing in these lines
the merest hint of how I feel
while sitting by your side.